


Our Brothers' Keepers

by onethingconstant



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War speculation, Gen, Insomnia, Magic, Motorcycles, Wanda is a good friend, basically a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onethingconstant/pseuds/onethingconstant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Let me put it this way. If I could have my brother back, and all it would cost was something so small as every Avenger dead and half the world burned to powdery ash ... I would do it. Without hesitation."</i>
</p><p><i>Steve thinks about that for a moment. "Why </i>half<i> the world? That seems awfully specific. Why not the whole thing?"</i></p><p>  <i>"I know my brother. He would never be happy without somewhere to run."</i></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div>Steve heads out after Bucky alone, but one of his new teammates has other plans.
            </blockquote>





	Our Brothers' Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> So I am working on Agent Carter, I swear, but I got a horrible cold and right at the tail end of it I heard Wanda's voice speaking to me in the shower, saying the line above, and I knew I had to write this first thing because you should always listen to your shower-voices. Shower-voices are smarter than you are.
> 
> Also, I only saw AoU once and I was really sick then, too, so I don't exactly remember how Wanda's powers work. So she's got her comic-book probability-warping powers, basically, with a pretty light show.

The text comes in after midnight, as Steve lies sprawled across his stupidly large bed, staring at his smooth ceiling and wondering whether the total inability to sleep is a side effect of the serum or a side effect of his life.

The text says: _Punk. Help._ That's all it needs to say, really, but Bucky's a swell guy, the best, and he includes coordinates too.

Steve's up and dressed and ready to go in ten minutes. He doesn't have to pack. He's had a bug-out bag ready for months. Sometimes he thinks he's only existed in anticipation of this.

There's no question of taking Sam, not this time. For one thing, he's asleep; for another, he's still healing the injuries he took in Romania and he should _not_ be in the air _or_ in combat; most importantly, this is something Steve feels like he has to finish alone. Sam's done too much already, and this looks like a door that's only one man wide.

 _I'm on my way,_ he texts back, and he's on the road five minutes later. The cool night air of upstate New York stings his cheeks as he roars up the empty country road in the dark. The Harley can go places most cars can't. Besides, he fought his way across Europe on one of these suckers once. It won't let him down now.

Except, ten miles outside of the Avengers compound, it suddenly runs out of gas.

Steve has an irrational instant of panic as the engine coughs and sputters—it reminds him, unreasonably, of an asthma attack, and this is the _worst possible time_ for an asthma attack—but then his higher brain functions kick in and he remembers he keeps the bike gassed up at all times and the engine always runs like a song.

Something _weird_ has happened.

Steve steers the dead-but-still-rolling bike off the side of the highway, slumps heavily in the seat to convey his irritation and exhaustion, and looks to his right. To the source of most of the weird in his life right now.

Wanda Maximoff is sitting casually on a fallen log, long legs crossed in front of her, crimson-streaked hair stirring in the night wind.

"Evening, Agent Maximoff," Steve says, because his ma didn't raise him to be rude to people who could make his head explode by thinking hard. Even if they are technically sworn to follow his orders.

"Do you know what I dream about, Captain Rogers?" she asks, tilting her head in her grade-A, most disturbing manner.

"Can't say I do," Steve says, though he can guess.

"My brother," she says simply. And Steve knows from experience what a big, complicated ball of pain that is for her. _I dream of my brother_ brings with it everything about him, everything Wanda can bring herself to talk about in the middle of the night and everything she can't. Steve, as the team's other chronic wandering insomniac, has heard a lot of it: the way he protected her in childhood, his silly jokes, the way he'd go blurry with excitement when he was happy, his frustration with people who thought too slowly, his addiction to chocolate ...

"That must hurt, sometimes," Steve says lamely.

"Hmm." Wanda tilts her head back and gazes at the stars. "I have looked into bringing him back, you know." She says it as casually as if she were talking about changing her hair color.

"You ... you have?"

"In my spare time." She rolls her eyes. "I have conferred with your synthetic man. And summoned a few select demons."

Steve isn't sure how he feels about that, but his ma raised a gentleman, so he gamely asks, "How's that goin'?"

"Shittily," Wanda informs him, tasting the word. Her English is improving rapidly.

Steve knows how he feels about _that_. "I'm sorry," he says, and means every syllable.

Wanda shrugs. "I mention it because it provides a unique perspective. I have come to a decision that I think you ought to know about."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Let me put it this way. If I could have my brother back, and all it would cost was something so small as every Avenger dead and half the world burned to powdery ash ... I would do it. Without hesitation."

Steve thinks about that for a moment. "Why _half_ the world? That seems awfully specific. Why not the whole thing?"

Wanda grins. "I know my brother. He would never be happy without somewhere to run."

Steve snorts. "So, the demons—they want more than half the world?"

"So far."

Steve gives silent thanks for price-gouging fiends. And dear God, what is his life?

"Well," he says. "That's ... good to know. You got any insight on what might've happened to my bike?"

"Yes." Her smile is smaller, but still there. "I'm not on it yet."

He knew that was coming, and he starts shaking his head before she's even finished. "No. No way. This is personal, and I can't ask—"

"You are not _asking_ me. I heard your discussion with Stark, the last time he was here."

Steve winces. _Discussion._ Such a polite word for an argument that ended with him hurling a coffee cup at a wall and shattering it into powder. He understands where Tony is coming from, he really does, but there's no way to explain to the guy that all the calm, logical arguments in the world simply don't apply when the sentence contains the word _Bucky_.

"He will crucify you for going to save your brother," Wanda says simply.

Steve shrugs.

"And yet ... here we are." Wanda grins again. "This is better than demons."

"You'd be smarter to stay out of this," Steve warns.

"I don't believe intelligence was mentioned in the orientation packet."

"That's 'cause we're all idiots. I don't want you to lose your home, Wanda."

She stands up, and a soft red glow rises with her, like the light of old embers. "My home is dead with Pietro. I have nothing to lose. And you could do with a little good luck."

He bites his lip. "He's not like Pietro, you know. He's ... in a bad way. It's not gonna be like saving Pietro would be."

"You're right. It will be much simpler and will not require congress with dark forces." She tilts her head and considers. "Well. There may be some chance encounters with Hydra."

"Why are you doing this? Really?"

She takes her time with that, smiles and looks him up and down.

Finally, she says: "I've been inside your head, remember? You would burn the _entire_ world for _your_ brother. I like that in a friend."

"I'm not burning anything yet."

"You are burning yourself. And you are all that is left of your world, are you not?"

Steve stares, openmouthed, as she saunters over and slides onto the seat behind him, snuggling up to his back in a way that is warm and comforting and not even slightly hot. It's like giving one of Bucky's sisters a piggyback ride, if he'd ever been able to manage that.

"Drive," she says, and the engine roars to life.

Steve doesn't need to be told twice. He opens the throttle and they're off like a shot, Wanda laughing and cheering in his ears.

They don't run out of gas for the next two days.


End file.
